Broken, Twisted, Sinless
by Dora
Summary: Pete Wisdom gives his wife Kitty an ultimatum after she loses herself to the Soulsword.


DISCLAIMERS: Everyone belongs to Marvel Comics _except_ John Constantine, who is DC/Vertigo's, Angela Wisdom, who is Sil's, Samantha Summers, who is Zanne's, and Jarod, who is property of whoever owns The Pretender. Truly great show, that, go watch the reruns on TNT.   


NOTES: Taken from a ficlet I wrote for my RPG, where Kitty Pryde (later to be Wisdom) reacquired the Soulsword in late 1999. It gradually corrupted her until she went after any practitioners of magick she could get her hands on for their power. Eventually she killed a number of people, including Forge, and severely wounded Amanda Sefton. By early 2001, with the help of others, she'd regained control of herself, but at a cost -- her family. The title of this was shamelessly stolen from my friend Gabby, who is far better at this kind of thing than I. Angela is, for reference, Pete and Kitty's infant daughter, and Jarod posed as an FBI agent in hopes of figuring out the "magick murders."   


* * *

  
She was sleeping now, curled in the fetal position on a cot. It'd been moved to the center of the inhibiting cell she was now occupying, inside a binding circle Constantine had created in order to prevent her from accessing either her powers, or the magicks she'd learned in the past two years.   


One year, nine months, and some odd days.   


Kitty had never told him exactly when she'd recovered the Soulsword. Had, in fact, hidden it from him at first. That should have been his first clue that something was wrong, was only going to get worse until it led to the death of over thirty people, the near deaths of two more, the neglect of one child and one husband, and a lifetime of emotional damage.   


And yet he found that he still loved her. Could, in fact, not make himself stop. John and Romany had said nothing to that. The only person who had was the false FBI agent Samantha Summers had outed, the tall man that refused to leave until he saw Kitty for himself, despite the repeated times he was forced off the property.   


His name was Jarod. He had asked why Pete didn't appear to be upset over his wife's acts of terrorism. He hadn't had the energy to tell Jarod that Kitty had, in a manner, killed those people unwillingly. He'd taken far more lives on his own free will over the years.   


Nonetheless, despite that ever-present, heart-wrenching love he had felt for so long and still did, Pete hadn't been able to talk to her, to even see her in person. He'd watched his wife over the monitors for two weeks now before mustering the courage to visit Kitty himself.   


Now. Now she was sleeping, a fitful rest Pete knew quite well, one that would leave her with a racing heart and continued exhaustion. He made no effort to wake her, though, sitting in a fold-out chair someone had brought down for him -- he couldn't remember who -- and waited.   


For five minutes. Ten. Half an hour. Sixty minutes.   


He didn't jump when she screamed abruptly, didn't move when she drew her arms up to her face and started to sob. He thought of their daughter, almost moved to comfort Kitty, then remembered that Storm's paramour was dead and Wagner's new wife was still in a wheelchair.   


Pete was silent, a veritable ghost, but he wasn't the only one with good training. Kitty noticed him less than a minute after she woke. She was off her game, Pete thought, but then, she had every right to be.   


She looked as though she wanted to speak, sitting there so small and hurt and beautiful, making his heart hurt, but when she saw how he was sitting, noticed the professional look he was wearing, the words died away.   


When he stood, she felt a sudden chill, but was unable to break eye contact. He approached her cell and tapped in the codes he'd been given to drop its shield. Hope sprung eternal in Kitty's eyes as she stared at him, one hand moving to touch the backup inhibitor she wore around a wrist. But instead of him acting as her knight in shining armor, he dropped a manilla folder in her lap.   


It seemed to break the staring spell, but confusion rode over her tear-streaked face as she handled the envelope. "Pete..?" she whispered, and looked up again as he left the cell, bringing its shield back up, the one she'd helped install when they'd first gotten the technology from the Shi'ar.   


He didn't speak, willed himself to stay silent, and studied her as she glanced over the paperwork she'd been given, then started to read with the ungodly speed he usually was able to match.   


"Pete... Pete, I don't under--"   


"Don't." He cut her disbelieving whisper off, sounding harsher than he'd intended to. Tears started to well up again in those huge brown eyes of hers.   


"Don't tell me you don't understand, Pryde. Because I'm not a sodding genius like you doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to believe that tripe." Bloody hell, why did he keep sounding so angry?   


"But they're--"   


"Divorce papers. I know. I'm the one that had them called up." He watched her drop the envelope once the words were out there, as though loathe to touch them. As though touching them made it real.   


"McCoy told me what you've said," Pete continued, a little more gentle now. He couldn't bring himself to let on how much this was killing him, though. "You want to die? That's the fucking coward's way out."   


"I killed people..." she started, staring at him imploringly as she started to cry again.   


Pete stared, conveying to her what _he'd_ done over the years, and she looked away, down at his well worn shoes.   


"Kitty." He commanded her to meet his eyes again in one word. She did, her breath hitching unevenly.   


"I love you." The words were a whisper, some barely heard accented phrase, but she heard them. She always heard them. "I love you more than anything I ever thought possible, but you're no good to me, or to Angela. Not like this."   


He could see that she understood what he was getting at. They had their own language, Pete reflected.   


"You need to straighten out, stop with this bloody self-flagellation. It's over. You can make yourself better."   


"The Soulsword--" she started, only to be cut off by him again.   


"The Soulsword's a fucking piece of trash you should have thrown to the four winds years ago!" Pete shouted. The following silence was deafening, and he had to close his eyes before he went on, unable to meet the look on her face. "John's willing to help you, and I'm sure Romany will do likewise. Learn, Kitty. Learn to control it if you're not going to get rid of it, do _something_ to fix it and yourself, because otherwise..."   


"...otherwise..?" she asked tentatively.   


Pete sighed, moved the folding chair back against the opposite wall, and turned to leave. "Otherwise you'll always be a threat to people, including the ones who love you.   


"Otherwise I won't be able to take you back." 


End file.
